


treasure hunt! (real treasure not included)

by petalprose



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Child Warlock Dowling, F/F, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Pre-Apocalypse, She/Her Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27477235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petalprose/pseuds/petalprose
Summary: One moment Crowley was negotiating with the Cook on making crepes for Gardener Frances’s late breakfast, and the next, Warlock had become the human embodiment of a whirlwind in the kitchen, babbling excitedly about a treasure his mother had told him might be on the estate.“What treasure?” asked Crowley to the little creature, as he zoomed about the kitchen in search of snacks to take on his quest.“I don’t know,” Warlock replied, as cheerful as Crowley was confused.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Nanny Ashtoreth & Warlock Dowling, Warlock Dowling & Brother Francis
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens, Ineffable Wives Exchange 2020, cross's portfolio





	treasure hunt! (real treasure not included)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [5ftjewishcactus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/5ftjewishcactus/gifts).



Crowley was, generally speaking, not very inclined to spend her weekend mornings searching for treasure, but when one was Nanny to the Antichrist, one had to make sacrifices.

It was not exactly planned. One moment she was negotiating with the Cook on making crepes for Gardener Frances’s late breakfast ( _the woman just works so hard on keeping our grounds picturesque, we ought to give her a little treat, oughtn’t we?_ Crowley’d said, conveniently leaving out the fact that Aziraphale liked to ask Crowley for ‘advice’ that led to Crowley exasperatedly giving a practical demonstration that did part of Aziraphale’s work for her) and the next, Warlock had become the human embodiment of a whirlwind in the kitchen, babbling excitedly about a treasure his mother had told him might be on the estate.

“What treasure?” asked Crowley to the little creature, as he zoomed about the kitchen in search of snacks to take on his quest.

“I don’t know,” Warlock replied, as cheerful as Crowley was confused. He began fitting as many biscuits as he could find into his pockets; the Cook had absconded the moment he entered, not having forgotten the incident last month when Warlock somehow managed to get hot sauce into every condiment and sauce he could find. “Mom just said she heard from the people who lived here before us that there was treasure buried somewhere here.”

“Right, yes, of course. That treasure,” said Crowley, not even the slightest bit more enlightened as to what exactly was going on.

Warlock, pockets stuffed to the brim with various nibbles, took her hand in his and walked as fast as he could manage out the house. “I’ve already gone everywhere inside the house, Nanny, and I’m sure if it was inside then you or one of the maids would have found it by now, too,” he said as he went, with unwavering confidence (and stride), “But the garden is really big! Sister Frances is probably really busy with all the plants and stuff, but I bet she’d know where the most likely spot for a treasure to be buried is.”

“She would,” agreed Crowley, still being dragged along, still reeling from the turn her day had taken. “Ah, Warlock, be careful where you step, you know what she says about the bugs.” Not that Aziraphale would have noticed, or, indeed, cared overmuch, but if their plan were to work it was important not to undermine the opposition’s life lessons too badly. (Also, it would help Crowley if he slowed down. She had not expected to be running around the grounds today, else she would have chosen to wear something more suited to the task than heels. In fact, she would have chosen to wear quite literally _anything else_ than her usual ensemble of a no-nonsense button-up, skirt, and tights, but she could hardly snap her fingers and change clothes _now.)_

“Every life is precious and meaningful,” recited Warlock dutifully. He slowed down, still keeping Crowley’s hand in his; she adjusted the hold so as to be more secure in her grip. “Sister Frances! Are you awake yet?”

“Oh, I’ve been up since dawn, young master!” Aziraphale’s voice called back, from an area populated by unruly bushes—Aziraphale’s most recent project, after an ill-advised binge-reading of gardening magazines, was to try trimming them into shapes yet to be decided upon. “These plants are quite resilient; I’ve been at them for so long I haven’t even had a chance at breakfast yet! I’ve been planning to take a breather for a while now.”

Crowley would never understand the layout of the garden. Several times she’d lamented to Aziraphale that it had so much potential, and it was all wasted for the sake of looking _pretty._ Warlock let go of her hand, walking ahead to where Aziraphale was. When they reached her, she was just beginning to stand, her gardening apron already speckled with flecks of dirt.

“Good morning, Sister Frances!” Warlock said, the very picture of prim politeness. You’d never guess that the little terror had biscuit crumbs in every pocket of his trousers. Speaking of, he held out one of the biscuits he’d taken from the kitchen to Aziraphale, beaming. “Since you said you didn’t have breakfast.”

“Good morning, young master Warlock,” Aziraphale replied, still managing to edge her smile into _beatific_ territory in spite of the sweat on her face and strands of hair falling into her eyes. Gingerly, she took the biscuit and took a small bite out of it. “Ah. Thank you. What brings you here so early? I wouldn’t have expected you around until late afternoon.”

“My mom said there was a treasure hidden somewhere in the house,” explained Warlock, hardly able to rein in his excitement. “And I guessed it’s most likely not in the house, since I would have found it by now, or Nanny, or one of the other employees, so it’s probably _buried,_ in the garden somewhere.” He looked very proud of his deduction.

Aziraphale had knelt down to be level with him as he talked, continuing to eat the biscuit he gave her and nodding all the while. When he finished, she straightened up and hummed and said, “I see,” topping it all off with sending Crowley a look that said no, she did not, in fact, see. She was hardly going to let that stop her from encouraging him, though. “I commend you for being able to narrow down your search to the gardens. Is this where you wish to begin? Because I’ve been focussing on this area for a while now, and I believe I can say with confidence that the treasure you seek was not buried here.”

“No, but we _are_ here to ask you for help,” said Warlock. “As the gardener you know the most about the garden, so you’ll be the biggest help in our journey.”

“Journey,” repeated Aziraphale, her brows raised, and she smiled. “Why, you should have led with that! I’m always one for a good old-fashioned adventure.”

Crowley was struck with a sudden, horrific vision of Aziraphale wielding her gardening shears against some unseen foe, Warlock by her side hurling his pilfered biscuits at the enemy. Both wore the sort of hat that would look at home on Indiana Jones but was comical on them, Warlock’s big enough to cover his eyes.

“Now, what did you say this treasure was?” Aziraphale was saying, as Crowley shook herself out of her waking nightmare.

“I don’t know what it is, only that it’s around here,” said Warlock. “Mom didn’t really know anything else either, or she didn’t have time to tell me, so we’ll get to find out what it is when we find it.”

“Oh, how fun,” said Aziraphale, with no trace of insincerity in her voice. “Now, let’s get started, shall we? I have a little map of the garden in my rooms, just give me a moment to retrieve it and we shall be ready to go!”

* * *

Stood next to her, observing as Warlock rooted around the rose bushes, Aziraphale said, “I must admit I am quite curious as to what sort of treasure could possibly be buried on the grounds.”

“You’re right to be,” Crowley said back, under her breath. She watched as Warlock pulled a thorn from a rose stem, inspected it closely, then discarded it. it was beyond her what possible purpose the thorn may have had. Warlock was in search of some sort of treasure, and a random thorn off of Aziraphale’s withering roses could hardly count. “From what I can tell, Harriet just needed to distract him while she got ready for the day. She texted me about being out with Thaddeus until the evening while you and Warlock were going over the map. Impressive work, by the way. I especially liked the ornateness of that compass star in the corner, really sold me on the treasure hunt.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Oh, thank you. Though I must admit I was partial to the border details myself. So, there _isn’t_ a treasure?”

“Definitely. Though, if your lessons have stuck at all, he’ll find a rock and declare it to be the treasure by virtue of existing.”

Warlock pricked himself on a thorn. He flinched; a minuscule movement, but to an infernal and divine being, the motion was as good as him stomping about and wailing. Crowley and Aziraphale held their breaths for one, two counts, as Warlock frowned down at his index finger and wiped the blood away. Eventually, after a moment wherein Crowley wondered if this was when the boy’s infernal powers would kick in and he would set the rose bush alight, Warlock moved on.

They relaxed in tandem, returning to their Warlock-appointed tasks of keeping an eye out for any particularly suspicious patch of ground. _Nanny, you can cover the right side, and Sister Frances can search the left,_ he’d said, before charging ahead fearlessly into the roses, presumably to grill them on the possible whereabouts of the nonexistent treasure. Perhaps that was what he pulled out the thorn for, intimidation.

“Should we tell him?”

“Better not,” said Crowley, after a moment of thought. A glance saw Aziraphale nodding in agreement. “I’ll figure something out. Probably just hide a fancy cup under a rock.”

“ _Crowley,_ ” admonished Aziraphale, “Look at how much effort he’s putting into this. Surely the boy deserves something more worthwhile.”

“He’s the _Antichrist,_ Aziraphale, what sort of prize do you think would be up to his standard?”

Aziraphale looked back to Warlock and frowned. “He’s also an eight-year-old.”

“Oh, now you’re just making my case for me. A fancy cup would be perfect. Maybe I’ll add a few demonic sigils to it, just for fun.”

Crowley couldn’t see Aziraphale’s face now that she was looking away, but she was almost certainly rolling her eyes. Crowley grinned in self-satisfaction as Aziraphale made her way to Warlock, presumably to guide the boy to some other treasureless area of the gardens. To her confusion, however, Aziraphale leaned down to have her mouth close to Warlock’s ear, holding a hand up as though sharing a secret. Warlock’s eyes went wide with wonder, looking back and forth between Aziraphale and Crowley.

“Nanny,” Warlock demanded, in a whisper-shout sure to have awoken people on the opposite side of the globe, “Is it true you know what the treasure is?”

Aziraphale was very clearly struggling not to laugh. She shut her eyes and took a moment to compose herself. “Young master, remember, that knowledge is secret,” she intoned, in as serious a voice as she could manage with laughter threatening to overtake her. “We can't have any vagabonds accosting miss Ashtoreth in order to steal the treasure for themselves, can we?”

“Right,” said Warlock, and then said something so quietly he must have simply mouthed the words.

Crowley nodded anyway, because she may as well resign herself to her fate. “Yes, in fact, I do,” she said, and then an idea occurred to her: “ _But,_ that’s all I know. Sister Frances, however, knows _where_ it is.”

“I do?” said Aziraphale, alarmed.

“You _do?”_ said Warlock, with all the enthusiasm Aziraphale lacked. He turned to her, now so excited he was practically jumping in place. “Sister Frances, why didn’t you say so?”

“Oh!” Warlock attached himself to Aziraphale’s apron, looking up at her with wide, imploring eyes. “I—young master, miss Ashtoreth misspoke. I only know the _approximate_ location of the treasure, you see,” she said, lying through her teeth so impressively Crowley almost swooned where she stood. “I thought it best to cover all our bases.” Aziraphale shot Crowley a dirty look, and Crowley’s snicker hastily metamorphosed into an unconvincing cough.

“I guess that makes sense,” said Warlock, hardly even questioning her. “We could have started there, though.”

“Yes, well,” said Aziraphale. Crowley watched as she cycled through multiple excuses, examined them, and discarded each and every single one within the span of three seconds. “Well, no time to waste now, is there? Come, let’s go to the, er, to the,” she looked around and pointed in a random direction, over Warlock’s shoulder and towards the gardening shed. A bird began to sing somewhere in the distance, and Crowley imagined it to be in mockery, or in pity. “There.”

“Wicked!” Warlock bolted ahead of them, cheering all the while at the thought of being one step closer to finding the treasure.

 _To the there,_ Crowley mouthed at Aziraphale, as she caught up to her.

 _Thank you for your help,_ Aziraphale mouthed back, and even without verbally saying it, Crowley could _hear_ the sarcasm dripping from her words.

* * *

“Oh, dear, oh, no,” chanted Aziraphale, watching aghast as Warlock happily trod through her plot of Nasturtium flowers. “Warlock, child, do be careful!”

“Remember to be thorough as you search, Warlock, the treasure could be anywhere here, Sister Frances was certain of it,” said Crowley, with great mirth. She elbowed Aziraphale, looking on proudly as Warlock knelt down and began to dig with his hands through the soil, getting muck all over his professionally tailored clothes. “Look at the little monster,” she sighed. “Eight-years-old, and already so good at sowing chaos. Brings a tear to the eye.”

“If a prepubescent child doing as prepubescent children are wont to do and playing with dirt is what constitutes infernal behaviour to you, I must wonder as to the state of Hell these days,” said Aziraphale testily, still eyeing Warlock as he tore through her plants.

Crowley conceded the point with a wave of her hand. “Eh, it’s at least a good thing for us two, that this is the worst he can get up to.”

“Yes, I suppose,” said Aziraphale, wringing her hands. “Although I do wish he wouldn’t pull them all out like he’s doing right now. Warlock! Young master, those are the roots you’re pulling out, the plants need them to survive, remember?” Finally having enough, she rushed forward and knelt beside him, hands hovering over what remained of the Nasturtium.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, Sister Frances.”

“And?”

“Sorry, Sibling Flower.” Warlock patted the leaf closest to him.

“Very good, dear.”

Warlock resumed digging through the soil under Aziraphale’s guidance, having convinced himself the treasure was most likely buried under them. Crowley watched as Aziraphale and Warlock worked dutifully, both covering different ends of the small plot Warlock had determined to be the approximate location of the treasure’s location. Of course, given a) it was with the direction of a map of dubious accuracy, b) the vague hints courtesy of Aziraphale, and c) the fact that there never was any real treasure to begin with, the chances of them finding anything were next to none.

Unless there was some otherworldly interference, of course. Crowley discreetly snapped her fingers. Aziraphale unceremoniously found the hole she had been digging to be filled with displaced dirt. She leaned back in surprise and looked at Crowley, visibly confused. Crowley held her hand up to her, poised to snap, to indicate what she had done, jerking her head to where Warlock was digging.

Right on cue, Warlock let out a loud trill of delight. “I think I found it!” he said, looking at Aziraphale and Crowley in turn excitedly, and his digging took on Mach speeds.

Aziraphale and Crowley quickly went to his side, assisting him as he dug. A flowerbed irrevocably ruined and a pile of soil impressively tall later, they uncovered the cup Crowley had dropped in.

She did her best to make it as treasure-worthy as she could. It was suitably grody and weathered to help give it the appearance appropriate for being buried underground for, presumably, centuries, and had two little handles on either side. It was bronze, and while she _did_ add the detail of engravings to its rim, it was nothing so nefarious as demonic sigils. It was simply meaningless scribbles, but Warlock wouldn’t be able to tell that yet, since Crowley had been putting off those lessons.

Warlock _ooh_ ed at it suitably but, in a move that offended and confused Crowley in equal measure, set it off to the side and kept digging.

“Warlock,” she said, examining the chalice for a flaw he might have discarded it for, “Child, haven’t you already found the treasure?”

He stopped digging but kept his hands parting the soil in such a way that allowed her to see that there was still more yet to be unearthed, something bleach white under the dirt. “There’s still something more,” he explained, and continued digging.

Crowley leaned back on her heels. She looked at Aziraphale and saw that the angel was already looking back at her with a sheepish sort of smile, mimicking her earlier pose, fingers held to snap.

Oh, Aziraphale must have miracled a treasure into existence for Warlock, too. And as Warlock finally managed to dig it out and held it up in triumph, Crowley saw that she had included—

“Teeth!” cried Warlock, already shoving it in Crowley’s face. “It’s just like in my dinosaur book, see?” Before Crowley could answer, he dropped the two canines into the cup and held it up high. “This is wicked. I can’t wait to tell mom I found it, it’s super fancy. I bet it’s the holy grail, like Arthur!” He hoisted the chalice over his head and stood, grinning wide, rocking back and forth on his feet. “D’you think palaeontologists are going to come here and look at them?”

“I think you should keep them for yourself,” said Crowley. “You’re the one who found it, so it is up to you what happens to them.”

“But you and Sister Frances helped me find it,” said Warlock. He reached into the chalice, pulling out the teeth. He held his hand out to them. After a moment, Aziraphale did the same, and he dropped one of the teeth into her palm. Crowley, seeing this, held her own hand out to receive her tooth. “There. Now we all have something.”

“Thank you, Warlock, that’s very kind of you,” said Aziraphale, smiling at him. She held the fake tooth in between her hands and brought them to her chest. “I’ll be sure to take good care of it.”

“As you should,” said Warlock, with such a comical look of solemnity on his face that Crowley could hardly see how this boy was fated to end the world. “Nanny, will you also swear to keep your tooth safe?”

“I swear,” said Crowley, as serious as Warlock was. “Though, I’m sure Sister Frances didn’t exactly _swear_ to keep her tooth safe.”

“I swear,” said Aziraphale, not even sparing a side-glance at Crowley with how quickly Warlock had turned his gaze back to her.

“Okay!” Warlock said, brightly, “I also swear to make sure no-one ever takes this cool grail from me. Now let’s go clean them up so we don’t get sick.”

“Sick?” asked Aziraphale.

“Yeah, because they’re really dirty and they’ve probably been buried under there for ages. They might have super old germs, and then we wouldn’t be able to make a vaccine for them, and then we’d get sepsis and die.”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, visibly regretting having asked. This time, with Warlock distracted brushing soil off the chalice, she shot Crowley a look of disapproval. “I see. We should get to it, then.”

* * *

“Good call, giving him dinosaur bones,” Crowley said to Aziraphale, watching as she happily ate the crepes the cook had made _special for you, Sister Frances_ , given to her with an incredibly unsubtle wink at Crowley.

They were sat beside each other at the table, Aziraphale with her clothes changed into an airy baby blue blouse and brown trousers, Crowley still in her regular clothes, only wearing flats now. Warlock was upstairs getting cleaned up, having gotten the dirtiest out of them all, especially after accidentally getting water sprayed back at his face while trying to clean the cup off.

“They were hardly bones,” said Aziraphale, having finished with her most recent mouthful. She speared the scattered remains of the crepes one by one with her fork, looking for all the world the picture of contentment. “And admittedly, it was simply the first thing that came to mind when I thought of things Warlock likes. He still remembers the stunt you pulled with his dinosaur plushies, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” Crowley wondered if the boy would ever grow out of his adoration for the cosmic jokes. If he did, she would take it as a true sign of Armageddon’s approach. She pulled the tooth she was given out from where she kept it in her shirt pocket, rolling it between her index finger and thumb. “Think he’ll ever figure out it isn’t real?”

“What, the cup or the teeth?”

“Either.”

“Well, he gave us the teeth, so I’d say no on that end.” Aziraphale stood and made her way to the sink. instead of simply miracling the plate and fork clean, she turned on the faucet and began to wash them. “And while I didn’t get a good look at the cup you gave him, I trust in your unwillingness to get smote by an upset eight-year-old. He is a smart boy, though.”

Crowley tucked the tooth back into her pocket, head turned to watch Aziraphale as she ran the plate under water. “He is. What do you think we should tell Harriet? She’s not going to believe he actually found real treasure. Personally, I’m thinking we tell her it fell from the sky.”

“The truth?” Aziraphale offered, with a look over her shoulder at Crowley. She dried the plate off and set it to the side with the fork, then took the seat across from Crowley. “That we gave him treasure to find?”

“Yeah, I figured. ‘S not hard to believe, anyway, that room of yours is a hoarder’s den. We could have found the cup there and hid it.”

“I haven’t gotten around to clearing it out yet.”

“It’s been _years,_ angel. I keep telling you to just miracle the clutter away.”

“Where would I send them to?”

“Heavenly storage locker?” Crowley shrugged. “Anyway, that’s not my point.”

“Well, it’s not your room to live in,” said Aziraphale, back straight, prim and proper. “And besides, even if there are a touch too many material objects to keep track of, I at least keep them organized.”

Crowley thought of the chaotic way the bookshelves in Aziraphale’s bookshop were kept, the books still ordered, albeit in a fashion incomprehensible to anyone who was not Aziraphale. She decided to let it go. “Warlock’s been up there over half an hour,” she said. “I’d’ve expected him down here by now, hassling the Cook about getting dinner made early.”

Aziraphale looked to the hallway. “Do you think we should check up on him?”

“Yep,” Crowley said, popping the _p._ She stood, stretching her arms over her head, and together they made their way to the second floor.

As much as he wanted to simply use the watering hose to clean both himself and the cup, Warlock had to settle for washing off inside the house. cleaning the cup required a delicate touch, and Aziraphale refused to risk him tracking mud into the house. They bypassed the washroom, not hearing the shower run. The door to Warlock’s room was ajar, though, and before entering Crowley knocked thrice upon the door softly.

“Warlock?” she called, “Sister Frances is here with me, may we enter?”

No answer. Crowley pushed the door open a little farther and the first thing she saw was the chalice, clean as anything, sitting proudly on Warlock’s nightstand. The boy himself seemed to have accidentally fallen asleep, shoes still on with his feet hanging off the bed.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale from behind her, “He’s gone and tired himself out.”

“Certainly did a lot of running around today,” agreed Crowley, and with a wave of her hand, Warlock’s shoes were removed, placed at the foot of his bed. That done, she shut the door. When she turned, she was met with Aziraphale and her questioning look.

“Not going to tuck him into bed properly?” she asked.

“Nah. The monster under his bed would do well to fear _him,_ and he knows it.”

“It’s hardly a comfortable sleeping position,” said Aziraphale, hands clasped behind her as she and Crowley walked side-by-side down the hallway.

“He’s not supposed to be sleeping,” said Crowley, “Dinner will be ready in about an hour. Fancy a game of chess to pass the time ‘till then?”

They stopped at the top of the stairs. Aziraphale looked around for any other employees before taking the arm Crowley offered her. “To keep you from making mischief, of course.”

"Of course," Crowley echoed, and together they made their way to the ground floor.

**Author's Note:**

> for the ineffable wives gift exchange!


End file.
